


A Bit of Salve and Soul Bonding

by Rosa_Cotton



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Oblivious, Tension, Unrequited, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2018-11-05 13:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11014713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa_Cotton/pseuds/Rosa_Cotton
Summary: One very hot day an unanticipated friendship began, and for the first time Peter turned a cold shoulder towards Wendy...





	1. An Unexpected Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Peter Pan_ , all characters, places, and related terms belong to J.M. Barrie. Running Deer and the plot is mine.

The sun was slowly following its course across the clear sky. It had been a terribly hot day where the air was so heavy – pressing down relentlessly on all animals and humans – that even if one stayed oh-so-still and took shelter in the shade of a tree or put their feet in water, they would find no relief and would sweated greatly, feeling dried up on the inside. There were no clouds, allowing the sun to beat its rays down on the Neverland.

Wendy struggled with her burden. She was returning from the stream where she had filled up her two buckets with water; she hoped to wash the house this evening, for all the boys were away, and she was allowed to work in peace. Setting down the buckets for a moment, Wendy wiped her forehead with the back of her hand; the weight of them and the sweltering heat were causing her to become very exhausted. But onward she struggled.

She would allow herself a rest once she reached the house under the ground. Perhaps she would get a cool drink, simply sit quietly, and put her small, blistered hands on the cool dirt walls to get a little comfort…

Wendy was so attentive on her journey and about what she would do once she reached her destination that she was very surprised when she glanced up to find an Indian boy standing before her on the path, watching her curiously. He appeared to be several years older than she, was very tall – more so than Peter, who towered above her – with long black hair that tumbled down his bare shoulders and back. Wendy yelped, and the buckets fell from her tired hands, spilling the water over the ground.

"Oh!" Wendy cried in dismay and bent down to retrieve the buckets. Now she would have to make another trip back to the stream.

"I am sorry, squaw."

Wendy jerked her head up and found herself gazing into a pair of black eyes as the Indian boy looked down on her worriedly. She could only stutter.

"Can I help?" he asked.

Wendy found her voice. "I-I need to fill these," she replied and raised slightly the buckets she held. She was stunned when both were taken from her hands. She simply blinked up at the boy.

"Shall I follow?" he asked a little uncertainly after a long silence had passed between the two and neither had moved but had only gazed at each other.

She rose to her feet and mentally shook herself. Where were her manners? Gathering her wits and composure, Wendy nodded. "Yes, thank you…warrior," she said as she turned and retraced her steps.

"I am called Running Deer," the boy introduced himself.

Wendy glanced over her shoulder at him. "Thank you for your help," she said politely and quickly turned her face forward again, blushing slightly.

"It is my pleasure, squaw," he replied.

She donned a face of dissatisfaction and requested, "Please, you may call me Wendy."

They passed on in silence. The leaves and twigs snapped and crunched under her bare feet while Running Deer treaded over them with not a sound. Wendy felt she should say something but was at a loss; she had never spent such a long period of time with an Indian before. Those with whom she had had brief contact hardly paid her any kindly respects and instead focused all their attention on Peter – the Great White Feather, they called him. And she could feel Running Deer staring at her, which made her very uncomfortable. She was relieved when they arrived at the stream. She halted by the bank. The water rushed past her and wound its way around part of the island before pouring out into the Mermaids' Lagoon over a waterfall.

Running Deer was silent, permitting Wendy to take the buckets and fill them with the cold water. He studied her closely as she did her task; she was different from any other girl he had ever seen before. His inspection was interrupted when he noticed the slight flash of pain in her eyes and she glanced down at her hands. He waited until she set both refilled buckets on the ground, then stepped forward and carefully took her hands into his own, and bent his head, examining her palms. Wendy's cheeks flooded with color, and she trembled a little at this unexpected contact; then she became quiet and still. She bit on her lip when Running Deer's thumbs moved over her tender skin and gently applied pressure. A few moments later, he raised his head and slowly released her hands.

"If you could wait…I will find some herbs for your hands…"

Wendy weakly smiled, but it was enough of an answer, and Running Deer quickly disappeared from her sight. She sat herself down and watched the bubbling water bound down the slight incline, tripping over the stones in its bed. How soothing the sound was; it made the girl relax and close her eyes in contentment. She did not know how many minutes passed before Running Deer gently touched her shoulder, arousing her from her half-slumber. Shaking her head and coming fully awake, she realized he had already been at work. He held a bit of bark in his hand on which he had placed a strange green paste. Wendy's gaze lingered on it for a moment before turning to Running Deer. He settled himself before her and requested one of her hands, which she gave. He gently rubbed some of the paste over her palm and fingers. She was amazed when it seemed to disappear after his fingers had run over it several times. Soon the pain in her hand began to subside. Wendy smiled thankfully at Running Deer, who gave her a brief look before performing the same treatment on her other hand. She could only smile as the pain left both her hands; and her spirits lifted.

With new energy she rose to her feet. Before she could say or do anything, the buckets were lifted off the ground, and Running Deer motioned with his head for her to lead the way. Wendy smiled and skipped lightly ahead, unaware of the pretty picture she made to the Indian boy who gracefully hurried after her; yes, she was not like the other girls who lived at the village.

As the two went along, the journey was much more pleasant and less awkward; they talked about nothing and everything. Both were a little startled at how soon they came to the house under the ground. Running Deer helped Wendy lower the buckets down through a tree stump and then took his leave. She felt a bit sad as she bid the boy good day. He once again watched her for a moment and touched her cheek so quickly and lightly that she was not sure if they had really touched, before going off and vanishing into the jungle. Wendy went to her tree and entered the house.

~~~

Wendy had completed her cleaning, and supper was cooking when Peter and the boys returned from their adventuring. She greeted them and sent them off to wash up. But she became puzzled when she turned her attentions to Peter who had been strangely silent since coming in with the others and kept his eyes toward the ground. She attempted to make conversation, but he scarcely said a word in reply; and when he finally gazed upon her, his hazel eyes shone with many emotions: anger, hurt, confusion, and accusation. Poor Wendy did not understand, nor could guess why he was so cold towards her, for he had never been upset with her. Helplessly, she could only return to tending the cooking.


	2. Reaching Out, Withdrawing

Peter floated restlessly about the house, at times darting about, a tingling sensation tickling his tummy. Once in a while he felt he would explode because of the many feelings inside him raging like a great storm. And no matter where he turned his gaze, somehow Wendy stole into his sight; her appearance did not calm him. She went about cooking supper. He pretended as well as he could not to notice her when she turned puzzled, hurt-filled eyes toward him on occasion.

He drifted onto his back and placed his hands behind his head, rising toward the ceiling, allowing his mind to play over the events of the day…

Peter had followed Wendy from a distance, taking cover among the treetops when she went out with a bucket in each hand. He had observed her in secret many times before, spying on her curiously, usually when he had become bored with the boys' playing and flown about the island aimlessly. Yet today had been one of the rare times when he purposely, unnoticed, spent the day with Wendy. Sometimes he intentionally would put things he knew she would delight in – such as flowers, a mermaid's comb, a juicy pear – in a place along her path and excitedly watch to see how pleased she was with his surprise. And then, filled with pride, he would whisper to himself, "Oh the cleverness of me!" He was not sure just why he did not make his presence known when he followed her; he simply did not.

As he had watched from above Wendy struggle to carry the water-filled buckets, he momentarily felt respect toward her as he realized how hard Wendy worked to care for him and the boys. A thought then tugged at his ear: he should help her, for it was what a gentleman should do. And she would be very happy with him. The image of Wendy smiling thankfully up at him had caused Peter to grin cockily and glow with pleasure that he could perhaps make her cheerful. But before he could descend to help her, the Indian boy appeared.

Peter had laid a hand on the hilt of his dagger, prepared to jump to Wendy's defense. The redskins were now their friends, but Wendy had never come upon one all alone in the jungle. He discovered he would not need his weapon, for the boy offered his services to Wendy. Peter watched the two with great interest. He had been startled by how bruised Wendy's hands were and the pain they gave her. It was the first Peter became aware of the pain Wendy could suffer from her work. It was a new revelation to Peter, for Wendy had never been troubled by bruises – unlike him and the others – or become ill.

His gaze had become intense when the boy, Running Deer he claimed to be called, took Wendy's hands into his own; he had stroked them slowly and gently, at times pressing down softly on her upturned palms; and she had winced. Peter had frowned, troubled by what he saw; no one ever done such a gesture to her before. And the boy was hurting her… He was stirred by a tide of emotions washing upon him time and time again, each new wave more powerful and intense than the last, as the minutes slipped by and the scene before him continued to unfold. He wanted to swoop down on the two and put the Indian in his place – for he had no right to hurt Peter's mother, to touch her like that… But he remained still and hidden against his will. Maybe it was his curiosity, or not wanting Wendy to know he was concerned about her, that kept him where he was. His chest had tightened with an unfamiliar feeling when he saw the relief and ease which replaced the pain on Wendy's face, and then she turned _that_ smile, that smile when her eyes sparkled onto the boy; that smile that belonged only to Peter. He had gasped silently, and the emotions elevated even more at the look of admiration Wendy gave the boy when he had healed both her hands. In the throes of the new, unknown feelings racing through him, Peter gazed unfavorably down on the Indian boy at the unfamiliar looks the boy sent Wendy who skipped ahead of him. Peter did not understand them, but he could tell they were strange…it was not a look that a son turned to his mother, or an enemy bent on an enemy, or a friend gave a friend. It was something else… What, he did not know.

A fit of possessiveness toward Wendy seized Peter as he trailed the two. And pure hatred formed in his heart toward the Indian who was receiving attentions which rightfully belonged to him; he did not like this strange bond he witnessed between the two: the lingering glances they shared or the way the boy touched her cheek and said her name. The boy should not be permitted to do such things to her, for she was not his Wendy, oh, no! The thought was almost too much for Peter. He would not share _his_ Wendy… The boy did not leave soon enough in Peter's opinion. He had glared fiery daggers after the boy; but his anger was replaced by distress at seeing the almost dreamy expression on Wendy's face as the boy disappeared. He felt a sense of betrayal; why did she look so? What was so interesting about this Indian boy? He could not compare to him, Peter Pan, who had taken on the fearsome Hook! He was not wonderful or clever, just a mere Indian boy. But those thoughts did not lighten his mood. He had absolutely no desire to see the Indian boy again, but he was not sure about Wendy…

He had lingered outside, sitting dejectedly on a rock. In the silence and isolation which covered him like a blanket, the feelings swam faster, fighting for dominion in Peter. By the time the boys returned and happily greeted their father, he felt exhausted as he did after a long day of fighting. Jealously burned in his chest toward the Indian boy; and toward Wendy he felt bitter, hurt, angry, uncaring. He grew more upset toward her, for she was the cause of all these feelings, which he rarely experienced, to come upon him all at once.

He had been cold to Wendy since he came inside; it was a wall of protection. He did want to reveal just how much she had broken him. He was strong, carefree, and, after all, captain. Yet he truly was not sure what to do with her. To admit he had seen everything and try to put into words how he felt about the Indian boy and–

With amazing swiftness Peter spun in the air to face Wendy's back when he heard her gasp, snatching him out of his thoughts. Even with her back to him, he could tell she was cradling one of her hands. Peter landed beside her and reached for the injured hand. Wendy was not aware of him until they touched, and she nearly yelped in surprise. She looked at him startled, but he was concentrating on her hand. Her forefinger was glowing red and swollen, the result of a burn from the pot boiling over the fire. He studied it intently. The hand which had once been smooth, soft, and pink was now red and slightly rough from her many chores she performed day to day. Gently, Peter caressed Wendy's small hand. On closer inspection, he could see the faint shadows of what was left of her blisters. A small wave of envy quickly passed through him regarding the boy who could make Wendy well. But he shook it off.

He also brought into his grasp Wendy's other hand and looked it over; it was just like the first. Peter softly ran his thumbs over her palms, massaging the hard skin. A chill ran down his spine, and he shivered.

"Do your hands still hurt?" the words escaped his mouth before he could stop them; his voice sounded strange in his ears. He was not sure how to describe it, but it made him frown in puzzlement. For a moment he had not sounded like a boy.

"No, Peter," Wendy answered in a soft voice. She secretly was thrilled; it was the first he spoke to her since his return.

The way his name floated down to his ears made Peter tremble once more; it was a pleasant sound. He raised his head and gazed at her wordlessly. Their faces were close together, allowing each to feel the other's warm breath on their cheeks. Peter tilted his head to one side, searching her face. Wendy was completely still, not wanting to destroy the moment. Her breath caught in her throat when Peter raised a hand and brought it against her cheek. She gazed at him with large eyes and smiled.

Peter blinked once, twice, perhaps feeling a little dazed. It seemed as though Wendy's face came closer and closer… And when her eyes sparkled at him, his heart leaped in some strange excitement in his chest. Both children stared at each other from lowered lids. The air in the room seemed to become stuffy and warm. Some force drew them nearer to each other.

"Wendy…" Peter sighed softly.

_"Goodbye, Wendy…"_

Peter froze. It was not the same; how the boy had said her name was different from how he did. Why did Wendy ask him to call her so? She had not done so with the other Indians. Those questions allowed the forgotten emotions to roar up once more, and Peter abruptly ended the moment of reconciliation between him and Wendy.

He pulled back quickly from her and took his hand away. He turned away from her and floated into the air. Immediately he reached for his pipes and proceeded to play a soft tune on them. His music filled the air for several long minutes. Suddenly he halted; now the only sound was the crackling of the fire. He listened hard. Then he heard it again: a tiny sniff. Peter turned his head, sneaking a glance at Wendy. She stood before the boiling kettle, stirring its contents with a wooden spoon slowly. She stood straight with her head held high. Then she rubbed her face on the sleeve of her nightgown and sniffed a third time.

Peter whipped his head around and resumed playing. Now the tune did not sound merry to him; and he was more upset than ever: at himself as well as her and Running Deer. The music danced about him, chanting:

_You made her cry! You made her cry! You made her cry!_ The music mocked him.

It was truly a horrible realization to Peter; for never was he the cause of her tears before. Peter shook violently, heavy guilt another emotion added to the large load he already bore.

Sensing the house was starting to close in on him, Peter bolted out, going so fast he seemed like a shooting star. As he flew, his resentment gained the upper hand. And he wished that Wendy had never laid eyes on that Running Deer.


	3. Turmoil that Deafens

Wendy glanced over her shoulder in time to see Peter disappear from the house. For a moment she gazed at the empty room before turning back to the pot. As she resumed stirring the soup, she bowed her head, blinking back the tears which continued to flow like a steady stream from her eyes.

Drawing a shaky breath, she attempted to regain her composure. A dull ache that had settled itself in the pit of her stomach when Peter cruelly turned away from her now intensified. Wendy remained deeply hurt by his actions. His moods changed so quickly she was left in a daze.

She had thought it best not to find out what was troubling Peter since he would not speak to her, and she guessed he would deny anything was the matter. So she had continued with her cooking, once in a while glancing at the boy who had been floating lazily in the air.

Accidentally she burned herself when her finger brushed against the hot pot. She was quite used to such injuries, but this time she was so surprised – for she had been deep in thought – that a sound of pain escaped her mouth. She had examined the wounded finger, but before she could bring it to her lips to cool it and ease the pain, she was startled to discover her hand in Peter's possession. She had gazed at him in shocked surprise, speechless. She only watched with growing amazement as Peter studied both her hands as he caressed them gently. She was touched by this display of concern, for it was a new side of Peter revealed.

Wendy thought how similar this scene was to when Running Deer did nearly the exact same thing earlier. The realization that two boys had fussed over her today caused her stomach to do several flip-flops, for nothing of such had happened before. As she gazed at Peter's bent head over her hands, a blush ran across her cheeks as she wondered if she and Peter looked like one of those romantic pictures in her fairy-tale book of a knight kissing his lady's hands.

Wendy cannot hold back a shiver as she recalls how unusual Peter's voice had sounded when he asked her if her hands still hurt. It had been so… _different_. She had been stunned by the look he had turned to her; she had been able to only gaze back at him with breathless anticipation. When he brought his hand up to her cheek, she sensed acceptance and…something else in his gesture. Everything had felt peaceful and right at that moment. And then…she was aware of how much Peter despised her. He had breathed her name, so sweetly, so softly (Wendy could not help but be excited by the sound of it falling from his lips); then almost immediately afterward, his face darkened, his eyes hardened, and he swiftly turned away from her…

In Wendy's recalling that horrible moment, a single tear sneaked down her cheek unchecked. She drew a shaky breath. She knew she must have done something terribly wicked to cause Peter to be so displeased with her. But what had she done? What had she done to him? Wendy could not come up with anything.

Coming out of her trance, Wendy discovered the soup to be boiling over. With a cry of dismay she removed the pot from the fire and set it on the table to let it cool. The room became full of boys who returned from washing for supper and cheerfully helped their dear mother set the table and prepared the last of the meal. When all was done and everyone was seated, Peter's seat at the head of the table across from Wendy was empty. It was not the first time Peter showed up late; yet Wendy could not help but be a little concerned. She and the boys began to eat.

While laughter and cheerful chatter flew back and forth at the table between the boys, Wendy was silent, eating little from her plate, becoming lost in her own thoughts. While she pondered and wondered about Peter's behavior and what deed she must have unknowingly done to trigger such reactions from him, there was one thing she scarcely dared linger on and by which she was truly perplexed.

She could not forget what Peter had done before he suddenly became cold to her once more. With his hand on her cheek, he had tilted his head to one side and – had it been her imagination – or had he leaned in toward her? Just the mere wonder caused Wendy's heart to beat a little faster and her pulse to pound. Had he been about to…? Wendy shook her head slightly, banishing such thoughts, and was about to return her attention to her food when she became aware of how strangely quiet it was.

Raising her head, she glanced around the table to discover all the boys had halted eating, some with food halfway to their mouths, eyes wide with wonder and unease. She followed their gazes to where Peter stood just beyond the entrance of his tree. He was staring at the group with a dark frown. Wendy felt her heart freeze, and she swallowed hard. Never had any of the children seen Peter so upset before, who leveled a hard gaze on each child in turn. None was brave enough to break the silence. They watched him stalk to the table and sit down wordlessly.

The rest of the night passed in mostly frightened silence with the boys tiptoeing around Peter, hoping not to worsen his mood. Even Wendy quietly went about cleaning up the table. Peter simply sat before the fire, sharpening his dagger, when Tinker Bell lighted on his shoulder and delivered a message; he then quickly put away his weapon and flew to his tree. Despite the absence of Peter, the mood was still one of uncertainty in the house under the ground.

Tonight Wendy told the boys their bedtime story in a more quiet voice and shooed them into bed right after its conclusion instead of allowing any late playtime. After tucking them in, she settled herself in her rocker before the fire and bent over her sewing – a pocket for Curly. As she pulled the tread through the worn piece of cloth time and time again, she replayed in her mind all that she had done this past day, attempting to pinpoint where she had failed Peter. It must have been sometime today, for Peter had been very much lighter of heart the day before…

Wendy stared into the dancing flames of the fire for a moment and then jumped when something landed in her lap. She turned her head and watched as Peter marched to his bed and lay down, facing the wall. A light frown on her face, she turned her attention to her lap and scooped up in her hands the item Peter had tossed there: it was a lovely Indian necklace made of bright colored beads and small shells. Wendy simply gaped in astonishment.


	4. Tortured Souls

Wendy slowly made her way through the jungle, a basket balanced on her hip, filled with clothes she would wash in the stream. She glanced up with a bit of unease at the sky; filled with dark looming clouds, it threatened at least rain, if not a storm. It had been dreary and dark and cool for the last three days. As of now, though, no rain had come. This weather easily lowered the moods of the children.

Things were just as unpleasant at the house under the ground. Wendy was paralyzed by Peter. His mood had not lightened at all since the night he had unceremoniously delivered the Indian necklace to her. Indeed, he had only grown more upset, angry, and wild as the days went on. He no longer pretended nothing was amiss. It seemed all happiness had left him. He never laughed or smiled. Now a constant frown darkened his face, and a fire of emotions – none of them happy, obviously – burned in his hazel eyes. He took delight in nothing. He spent longer periods of time flying aimlessly about the island than usual, as the space of the house under the ground was too small for him. He would sometimes miss the evening meal completely. He at times came in long after all the others had gone to bed. Other times he would rise before the others and was gone when they awakened. The boys were immensely unnerved by their father's new, strange moods. They were quick to obey and please him. Even Tinker Bell wisely stayed out of Peter's way – though he took absolutely no notice of her anymore. He and the boys had paid many visits to the Jolly Roger recently. The boys told their mother that never had they seen Peter fight so long and hard with Hook before. Many a time the battle was only between the pirate and the boy, while all the others simply watched in awe.

"You would not believe the rage in father!" Tootles reported.

"Yet it never seems to be really directed toward Hook," Nibs said. "Father is never satisfied when we leave; he is just as tense and upset as before."

"Maybe there is someone he hates more than Hook!" one of the twins wondered.

Wendy was chilled by the thought. Oh, but it was true. Peter hated her. He hardly spoke to her. When he was around her, he seemed to be in pain almost; sometimes he would gaze at her with loathing or hurt, but he always turned away from her. Wendy learned quickly not to wear her necklace in his presence, nor dare ask how he had gotten it or from whom. The first and only time she had done so, he had gazed at her, his face darkening, and great shudders rocked his body. He had dropped his eyes to the necklace resting round her neck, and she had feared he would explode with bottled-up rage. His hand had missed the hilt of his dagger; Wendy had not known what he would have done if his reach had not missed, but she had been thankful. A small screech had escaped his lips, and then he had bolted out of the house.

Poor Wendy was completely at her wit's end. She had obviously done something very wicked to deserve such treatment from Peter. But she had no clue as to what. She could get nothing out of Peter, who kept his mouth shut as tight as a clam when she tried to question him. She seemed no longer able to please him. Even when she humored him and in turn ignored him, the boy settled in a worse mood. There was no hope of reconciliation as had been the day this all started.

With a long sigh, Wendy cleared her head with a shake and set down her basket by the stream's edge. Rolling up her sleeves, she began her task. Only a few minutes passed when Running Deer found her bent over her work. He remained concealed behind a tree on the other side of the water. He watched her in secret for a long while. He thought she seemed tired. Her hair was unkempt, and her face was slightly pale, her eyes troubled.

Running Deer had seen quite a bit Wendy since their first meeting, and they had quickly become friends. He heard about the troubles regarding Peter and dried the many tears she shed as she wondered what she had done. Running Deer never voiced his own opinions regarding her friend but, instead, comforted her as best he could, reassuring her she could always come to him if she needed a friend. Wendy had thanked him generously.

Now, as he watched the girl, Running Deer could not hold back a pang of anger towards Peter Pan, who caused Wendy such trouble and tears. How could anyone cause that sweet, innocent child grief and suffering? How dare he! She deserved to be merry and full of sunshine, to laugh and dance and smile. Surely this Peter Pan did not deserve to be called a friend of Wendy's.

Finally, the Indian boy came out of hiding. As he drew closer, Wendy lifted her head from her work, and, spotting him, a beautiful smile broke across her face, the tiredness and sadness disappearing momentarily. The boy was amazed by this transformation, and he willed his heart to stop racing as he returned her smile and greeted her.

Neither Running Deer nor Wendy was aware of the pair of eyes spying on them with intent interest. The eyes narrowed, flashing dangerously at observing the girl's reaction to seeing the boy, and then quickly vanished.

~~~

Wendy jumped in surprise when she left her tree and encountered Peter's furious gaze as he stood across the room with his fists positioned on his hips. She swallowed hard, not knowing what to expect. At first she stood where she was, holding the basket full of cleaned laundry, and simply gazed silently back at him. When the unbroken silence had lasted for many long minutes, Wendy finally ventured to set the basket down by her rocker. Calmly, slowly, she put away all the newly-washed clothes. All the while she was aware of Peter's steady burning gaze on her. She was caught off guard when the shirt she was folding was ripped from her grasp. She was unable to hold back a moan as it landed on the dirt floor. When she turned to Peter, she forgot all about the discarded shirt.

Peter stood very, very close to her, his eyes fixed on her neck. Wendy's eyes widened. She realized her mistake too late. Her hands were quicker than Peter's, and in a second had removed the necklace and held it behind her back. She gazed with a bit of fear at Peter. She was met with coldness as he seemed to look right through her, searching, frown deepening at whatever he found.

"Peter," she said in a threadbare whisper.

He jolted as though burned. " _Don't_ ," he practically growled through his teeth, ice melted by fire. "Just don't."

An unexpected wave of courage came to Wendy, and she touched his shoulder. He jerked away.

"Don't touch me!"

"Why?" Wendy demanded, taking a step forward. "What have I done?"

Peter only pressed his lips into a firm line and looked away.

"What's wrong, Peter?" Wendy persisted.

The boy only flinched at hearing his name falling from her mouth; he cramped his eyes shut, a strange expression sweeping across his face. He then turned away. Wendy mutely watched the distance widen between them.

"You must really hate me, Peter!" she suddenly burst out in a half-angry, half-sad voice.

Peter halted abruptly, his back straight and stiff. He eyes stared at the wall in shock.

Wendy nearly regretted her words, but what was done was done. "The boys no longer know how to react around you. You are pleased with nothing I do. You hardly speak to me. I have done nothing –"

Peter rounded on her sharply. "Nothing!" he yelled, advancing on her. " _Nothing!_ You have done…something! I am youth, freedom, joy. But ever since you did… Never did I know true hatred before. There are enemies worse than Hook. What are those things which I never knew before? I shouldn't have them. And it's because of you! _What have you done to me?!_ " He glared at her.

Wendy matched his glare with her own. "I am sorry!" she said.

A dead silence fell. Peter's glare turned to confusion.

"I am sorry," Wendy repeated, quieter this time. "I am sorry for whatever I have done that caused you to be so…different, upset, cold, and angry! I promise I won't do it again. You don't have to be upset over these things you dislike. We can be friends again. Everything can be just like it was."

Wendy was unable to hide her unease as she watched Peter take a menacing step toward her. Never had she seen him so angry.

"Everything can be just like it was?" he said in a dangerous voice. "Oh, of course, nothing will be just as it was! You will not go back!" he accused her.

"I do wish you would explain yourself!" she retorted. She wiped her eyes across her sleeve. She would not cry in front of Peter.

"And then you will tell a story and make it all better," he jeered.

Wendy lost her temper. "You expect us to know your every wish and fulfill it. Yet you are never satisfied with us. You don't deserve any of it! I don't know why I've wasted crying and worrying over you. You, you brat! Spoiled little brat! I hate you!"

She had reached her limit and raised her hand to give him a hard slap. But before she could hear the sound of her hand meeting his cheek, Peter grabbed two handfuls of her long hair, and she yelped in pain.

"I hate myself!" he breathed.

Perhaps it was Wendy's cutting words that pushed him over the edge, or the frustration that she had no idea what pain she caused him. Perhaps it was the mixture of anger, hurt, and fierce jealousy overwhelming him, or a new, unfamiliar, overpowering instinct which he obeyed without thought. Or maybe seeing Wendy smile at Running Deer earlier was the last straw. Whatever it was, Peter roughly brought Wendy's head toward him as he moved forward, causing their mouths to meet in a hard kiss.

Wendy was only aware of fire surrounding her. She never knew if she remained frozen to receive Peter's heated kiss, if she fought him, or if she responded. She only knew cold surrounded her when Peter pulled away – was it a second or an eternity later since their lips had come together? When she opened her eyes Peter was gone. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor.


End file.
